The memories were vivid, almost like he was reliving each and every event. He was young, maybe seven. He stared down a long, dark hallway. Mahogany paneling lined the walls between a series of tall doors, almost all of which were closed. The few that were open led only to more darkness inside the rooms. Small, sconce lights, between every third or fourth door, provided the only illumination into the hallway. Each of the lights slowly pulsed, each separately beating in their own rhythm. As he watched, the lights slowly merged into a common beat, pulsating as a singular heartbeat. That was when he noticed the hallway itself seemed to expand and contract, breathing, sucking him forward.
He saw her then, and backed up against the wall to keep her from spotting him. She pushed a cart with large, spoked wheels and rubber tires. As she came under the glow of one of the lights, he could see her grey uniform and white pinafore apron. Her white cap indicated her profession.
The wheels of the cart squeaked, masking young Mark’s footsteps as he ventured out and followed along quietly behind her, staying in the shadows as much as possible. The doors’ deep casements provided plenty of hiding spots for him when the nurse would stop and look back in his direction. Young Mark had almost caught up to the nurse when she stopped. She picked up an old jar of medicine from a dozen or more similar jars on her cart, then opened a door and went inside. A light came on inside the now open door, casting her shadow out into the hallway. Mark watched her shadow grow against the far wall as the nurse went farther into the room.
Young Mark crept up carefully, quietly. He hid behind the cart and slowly rose up to look over it. Beyond, he saw a short hallway, similarly paneled with the dark mahogany. Another door stood open at the end of the hallway, the source of the light. Mark was drawn forward, and he tiptoed around the cart and into the passageway. He approached cautiously.
As he moved closer to the light coming from the open door, Mark began to hear something… a quiet sobbing. He stopped abruptly, trying to melt into the wall. The sobbing was subdued, eerie. After a moment he continued forward. Slowly. Carefully.
As young Mark approached the door, the sobbing grew louder. Mark leaned around the edge of the door and carefully looked in. The nurse was leaning over a hospital bed, trying to dispense a spoonful of the medicine to a woman. The woman’s head twisted violently from side to side, trying to avoid the medicine. The nurse grabbed the woman’s chin and forced the medicine between her clenched lips. As the nurse stood back up, Mark got a better look at the woman. She was middle aged, brown hair a rat’s nest that hung down her forehead almost covering her eyes. She was scary, but the thing that frightened young Mark the most was that she was bound to the bed, hands tied with leather straps to the bedframe. The patient lifted her face, staring directly at Mark. She opened her mouth to scream, when a light began to grow behind her head. The light behind her face grew larger, brighter, eventually haloing her head, diffusing the edges of her face and finally absorbing her face completely.
A painful odor attacked Mark’s nostrils. As the fire in his sinuses abated, Ellen’s face came slowly into focus.
“Mark… Mark… You okay?” Ellen asked.
Mark realized he was laying in the middle of the floor, looking up at the lobby ceiling. Another woman, mid- to late forties, wearing a white lab coat, was kneeling over him. She came into view next to Ellen. She waved a small vial under his nose.
The fire returned to Mark’s nostrils. His head snapped back and Mark pushed the woman’s hand away. “Yeah… Yeah… Enough!” Mark said.
Ellen’s face came back into view. “Damn, Mark. You just spun right into the floor.”
“Sit up. Slowly,” the woman told Mark.
Ellen and the woman helped Mark up into a sitting position. A nurse, wearing floral scrubs, brought a cup of water.
The woman took the water from the nurse and offered it to Mark.
“Here,” she said. “Sips only.”
Mark sat up and took a sip, as instructed.
“Better?” the woman asked.
“Yeah. Yeah, I think so,” Mark said. The room was still spinning a bit, but he was getting his stability back.
“This is Dr. Drexel,” Ellen introduced the woman in the lab coat. “She’s the hospital administrator.”
“Did you have breakfast?” Dr. Drexel asked.
Mark took a second to size her up. Mid-forties. The grey streaks at her temples didn’t detract from her elegant looks. “Yeah,” Mark said. “A big one. I don’t know what happened. This is really embarrassing.”
Mark started to stand. The women helped him, one on each side.
“Easy,” Dr. Drexel said.
They got Mark up, but both stood ready on either side of him.
“You’re awfully pale, Mark. You going to be okay?” Ellen asked.
“Yeah, I think so,” Mark said as he took another drink of water. He could feel Dr. Drexel looking him over. Was she worried about his health? Or was she more concerned about what he was doing here?
“Why don’t we go into my office?” Dr. Drexel said. “You can rest there.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Mark said. “We can get on with the interview.”
Dr. Drexel took his arm, helping to steady him. “If you’re up to it.”
“I think I’m fine. I’ll be okay.” Mark looked over at Ellen. He nodded over at the camera sitting on the floor.
Ellen took the hint and retrieved her equipment.
“After you,” Mark told Dr. Drexel.
Drexel supported Mark for a few steps, then he gently pulled his arm away as he felt his full composure return. He didn’t need to feel like he had to be friendly with Dr. Drexel — he might need to ask her some tough questions.
Mark glanced back to see that Ellen had retrieved the camera. They both followed Dr. Drexel past the staircase on the left, then turned left down the hallway. It was different than the hallway Mark had looked down — the one that had seemed to cause his stability problem. This hallway was well lit, some daylight streaming in through large windows.
Dr. Drexel stopped at a door on the left. She retrieved her key from a pocket in her lab coat and opened the door.
Mark glanced at the placard on the door frame:
“Come in, please,” Dr. Drexel said.
Mark followed her inside. The office was certainly not what Mark had expected. It was large, classically elegant. Dr. Drexel’s antique, oak desk was clear of clutter: only a phone, with a large chair behind it and two smaller guest chairs at its front — all appeared early twentieth century. At the other end of the room was a large leather sofa, and a leather chair situated next to it. One wall had several tall, uncovered windows, which let the sunlight stream in. The light highlighted dark paneling and built in bookcases on the other side of the room. The bookcases were filled. Mark glanced at the books — some appeared quite new, but others were very dated — leather bound.